


One More Weekend

by bcole4



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Drinking, Drinking & Talking, First Time, Love, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 05:45:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bcole4/pseuds/bcole4
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete makes a fool of himself on the tour bus and says things he never meant to say. When Andy and Joe leave Pete and Patrick alone for the weekend, Patrick thinks it's the perfect time to talk things over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. FRIDAY

**Author's Note:**

> First fic in years and years, so sorry if it's a bit rusty. Title is from the Academy Is... song of the same name.

Patrick waved at the crowd. Although Pete was behind him, he knew Patrick was smiling with all he had. It had been nearly ten years and Patrick was still humbled by the response he got night after night, a fact that made Pete a bit dumbfounded because, at least to him, Patrick was the most perfect thing in the world. So why should he expect his life to be anything less than this?

After the signings and the trek to the hotel and the much-needed showers, the night was over. Usually, the four bandmates relaxed. They played board games or Xbox or made fun of whatever book Andy happened to be reading. They got drunk together. They had fun. But tonight was not a normal night. Andy was packing a duffel bag and Joe was in the shower, leaving Pete and Patrick alone in the living room of the suite. And nothing about this was relaxing.

In the uncomfortable silence surrounding the two, Pete let his mind wander. Of course, it wandered only to Patrick. That’s the only place it had wandered for a decade. Usually, it was a series of daydreams, a beautiful succession of what ifs and maybe one days, but tonight, it wasn’t. No, tonight, Pete thought about the way he screwed everything up. 

It had happened the night before. They’d been on the bus, and Andy and Joe had dozed off, leaving Pete and Patrick to finish the bottle of Canadian Club they’d found in their dressing room. They’d been going shot for shot for a little while, making Pete feel exceptionally bold and Patrick look exceptionally handsome. 

“Did you see those girllls tonight?” Patrick had asked, his tongue sticking drunkenly on the “l” in girls. “They were all over you, dude!”

“Yeah, I mean, like, whatever. They were alright,” Pete responded.

“Don’t you wish you could’ve had one? Sucks that we had to leave so soon.” 

This was the one thing about Patrick that Pete didn’t like. For some reason- maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe tours made Patrick lonely, or maybe, just maybe, it was some kind of front for Pete (which, admittedly, was unlikely)- whenever Patrick drank like this, all he could talk about was getting laid. It bothered Pete. Patrick wasn’t like this. Not when he was sober. Which was probably one reason Pete said what he said next.

“Yeah, they were pretty. But not one of them looked as amazing as you do. I’d have you over any of them.”

Patrick had stopped taking his shot immediately. Pete had realized what he said and immediately felt himself sobering up. He’d searched for words to fix what he’d said, to take it back, but his mouth wouldn’t work. Patrick had looked at him for a few long seconds and then put his shot glass on the table, stood up, and got into his bed.

Throughout the day, through sound check and warm-ups and even the show, Patrick had barely looked at Pete. And Pete didn’t go near him, didn’t indulge in kissing him on the cheek when they played Dance, Dance, didn’t pose with him for pictures while they were signing after the show. He’d needed time to digest the fact that he had fucked up the chemistry of the tour, the band, and most importantly, the friendship he had with Patrick.

A slam of the bathroom door brought Pete out of his thoughts. Joe came into the living room to ask Patrick, “Can I borrow your suitcase?”

“Sure, but I swear to God, if it doesn’t come back in one piece-“

“Just because I’m taking it to Colorado doesn’t mean it’s actually going whitewater rafting WITH me,” Joe laughed. Patrick laughed, too, and Pete stole a glance at him, just to see him smile. 

Joe left and the silence resumed. Maybe it was just Pete. Maybe he was the only one making it awkward, maybe Patrick didn’t care. But he knew Patrick did. He had to. Pete knew he was way out of line last night, and he was stupid for thinking Patrick even wanted him. Patrick didn’t even swing that way.

Andy came into the room with his duffel and Joe came in a few minutes later with Patrick’s suitcase. 

“Alright, hold down the fort for us,” Andy said, and after the four said their goodbyes, Joe and Andy left.

Which made last night’s misstep even worse. Joe was going to Colorado with his wife and her parents for the weekend, and Andy was going to visit his parents. The band still had a show to play here on Monday, so instead of going home for the weekend, Pete and Patrick had opted to just stay in a suite for the weekend. This decision had been made weeks ago, before Pete turned into a huge idiot. 

For a while, the two were quiet. Pete’s mind wandered again to Patrick. He knew he was in love with Patrick, could feel it in every atom of his body. His bones seemed to warm whenever Patrick was near him. Every kiss on the cheek onstage, every punch on the shoulder, it all meant so much more to Pete than just friendly gestures or making girls swoon. It meant something. Something amazing, something bigger than Pete or Patrick or the band or the world. And Pete had been okay with feeling this way for years. He couldn’t figure out why he said what he did last night, why he chose now of all times and chose to say it in the most unceremonious of ways. Pete had never uttered a thing like that around Patrick before. 

Honestly, Pete was a tad surprised at Patrick’s reaction. He would’ve expected Patrick to laugh it off. It was just something dumb friends said to each other. Pete had at least expected Patrick to have woken up this morning and gotten over it. But he hadn’t, which led Pete to think Patrick somehow knew he was serious. And really, that killed Pete. He was perfectly fine living life without ever letting Patrick know how he felt. He was sure he’d find some girl (or guy, whatever) and live a happy life committed to somebody else. The one thing Pete hadn’t ever wanted was to complicate the friendship he had with Patrick. And now he had.

Patrick got up silently and left the room. After a little bit, Pete heard the shower start to run. He figured he could do one of three things: continue to wallow, go to sleep and spend the weekend avoiding Patrick, or get completely bombed. And he really liked the sound of the third option.

He found a bottle of tequila that had been left for them by someone- the managers, the hotel staff, who knew- and cracked it open. He started taking shots. At first it was harsh going down his throat, and he needed to chase it with water. But after the fourth or fifth shot it began to feel good. He stopped using a chaser. Then after the tenth (or was it eleventh?) shot, he gave up on the glass altogether. He brought the bottle to his lips and knocked it back. He was slightly aware that he was missing his mouth by quite a margin, and that his shirt was getting stained with alcohol. He didn’t notice that the shower had gone off until Patrick was standing right in front of him, dripping wet and wearing a pair of sweatpants and no shirt.

“Oh, Paaaatrick, hello,” Pete slurred, his head swimming. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Pete, I wanted to talk to you,” Patrick said, and even though he was very, very wasted, Pete noticed that Patrick looked almost… sheepish. “About last night?”

“I remember that! When I made a fool of myself because I think you’re-“ Pete shut up. He was at least conscious enough to know not to make the same mistake twice. And also Patrick’s torso was just so distracting.

“Right, well, listen, Pete, I think you’re… I mean, the feeling’s mutual, and… Jesus Christ, I sound like an idiot, you won’t even remember this in the morning.”

“Noooooooo sir,” Pete laughed, trying to be agreeable.

“Oh god, look at you,” Patrick said, concern clouding his features. You’re a mess. Here.” He took the bottle out of Pete’s hands and put it on the coffee table. “Let’s get you out of this.” He reached for the hem of Pete’s shirt, then hesitated. Pete lifted his hands above his head like a little boy waiting to be undressed. Patrick eyed him, puzzled, and Pete realized how stupid he must’ve looked, so he put his hands back down. But Patrick took hold of Pete’s shirt and yanked it off of him. In Pete’s present state, it was enough to make him crazy with lust, but he felt too heavy to try anything. And he was a bit confused- had Patrick said that he liked Pete? Or was that just some tequila-laced fantasy?

“Do you want to go to your room? Can you walk?” Patrick was talking to him, but Pete didn’t really understand. This must’ve shown on his face, because Patrick half-smiled and shook his head. “Just lay down on the couch.”

Patrick gently pushed Pete back by his chest, and Pete slowly laid down. He locked eyes with Patrick. This was something he could still appreciate, drunk off his ass. Those incredible, piercing, boyish eyes of Patrick’s, the first thing Pete ever fell in love with, back when they were just kids. He never wanted to stop looking into those eyes. 

Patrick maintained eye contact as he slowly hoisted himself onto Pete, searching for signs of discomfort. Pete tried not to show any, even though his head felt terrible. Patrick’s face was gut-wrenchingly close to Pete’s when he asked, “Do you feel sick?”

Pete didn’t want to answer. His head hurt too much and he was afraid that if he opened his mouth, it would only be to kiss Patrick, to close the centimeters-wide gap between them. And if that was going to happen, Pete didn’t want it to be like this, even if everything in his body, including his half-formed erection, was telling him different. So he just shook his head.

“Okay.” Patrick, ever so slowly, put his head down on Pete’s shoulder. Pete took everything in in pieces- the way his bare chest felt pressed to Patrick’s, Patrick’s slow breath on Pete’s collarbone, Patrick’s thumb grazing Pete’s wrist. It all felt like some crazy dream. Pete realized that he wasn’t touching Patrick, so he slowly wrapped his arm around him and rested his hand on the small of Patrick’s back. Everything felt so surreal. Pete wanted to remember this. This was Patrick. Sure, he’d been there when Pete was drunk before, and sure he’d kissed him on the neck in front of fans, but this was different. This wasn’t for an audience, or because he had to. This was Patrick and Pete, alone, the same boys they’d always been and yet, somehow, now they were different. 

Pete thought he heard Patrick whisper “You look amazing, Pete,” but he couldn’t be sure. He tried to say something, but it was too late. He’d gone sound asleep.


	2. SATURDAY

Pete woke up on the couch, aching everywhere. He couldn’t tell what time it was, but it was sometime in the morning. The rising sun through the window practically blinded him and worsened the headache that hadn’t gone away in the night.

Rubbing his temples, he tried to remember the previous night. He remembered the show, saying goodbye to Andy and Joe, and then it just stopped. He saw the tequila bottle on the table and then it started to come back in pieces. The heavy drinking, Patrick without his shirt, Patrick bringing up what happened on the tour bus, taking his shirt off… _oh. shit._ They didn’t… They couldn’t have…

No. No, they definitely didn’t. Pete didn’t care how drunk he was. He would’ve remembered that. But did Patrick say something about wanting to? Pete strained to remember… Had Patrick said “the feeling was mutual”?

Suddenly, Pete was aware of a huge weight on his body. He looked down and started slightly. Patrick was sleeping on Pete, using his ribcage as a pillow, his arms wrapped tightly around Pete’s waist. So maybe Patrick had said he was interested in Pete. That didn’t bother him in the slightest. He had to admit, this was an odd thing to look at in the morning light. Patrick looked like a baby when he slept. It was such a stark contrast, peaceful Patrick with pale, untouched skin next to Pete, who was a few shades darker and covered in tattoos and scars.

He could’ve watched Patrick sleep forever, except that Pete’s sudden movement had stirred Patrick enough to wake him. At first he just blinked sleepily and inhaled deeply. Then he screwed up his nose. “You smell like tequila,” he mumbled, giggling slightly. Then he fully woke up. He looked down at Pete’s torso, then up at Pete. It was his turn to start.

“Pete! Oh god, shit, sorry,” Patrick started talking a mile a minute, scrambling to stand up.

“Patrick! Patrick, it’s cool,” Pete said, in an attempt to calm him down. “I’m alright, just don’t jostle me so much. And close the blinds, would you?”

Patrick silently did what he was asked, and as his back was turned to Pete, Pete noticed he had an embarrassing case of morning wood. He sat up quickly to try to conceal it, which made him dizzy. He groaned.

Patrick whirled around. “Are you okay? Are you hung over? Do you need something?”

“Patrick. I’m fine,” Pete said, as firmly as he could. “I just need to sit for a while.”

“You got pretty wasted last night,” Patrick replied, picking up the bottle of tequila, which was half-empty. “I’m surprised you didn’t vomit everywhere.”

“Yeah, well, I might,” Pete mumbled. He felt worse and worse with every second that went by. “Can you catch me up on what happened last night? I mean, I have a few moments in my head, but can you…” As he trailed off, he remembered the way Patrick’s eyes had looked last night. They’d been beautiful. And he remembered Patrick’s lips being dangerously close to his for just a moment. So there was something there last night. If only Pete had been sober enough to remember everything.

“Yeah, um. That’s a conversation we may need to have when we have more time. I have a few interviews I have to do today, and… SHIT.”

“What?” Pete asked, but Patrick was already halfway to his room. Within two minutes, he was back in the living room, facing a very confused Pete completely dressed, complete with his usual hat and glasses. “I have a press thing I have to be at in 15 minutes. Shit, I’m going to be so late.” He ran to the door, hesitated, then ran back to the couch, said “You need to eat soon. Drink some black coffee. And for God’s sake, take a shower,” and ran back to the door. He had his hand on the doorknob before he ran to the couch again and pecked Pete quickly on the cheek. “We’ll talk when I get back. Take care of yourself today,” he said, and then he was out the door.

Pete sat on the couch, flabbergasted. For one thing, the events of the morning took place so fast that they were a total blur. Pete wondered if he was still a little drunk. And then, it seemed like things were actually progressing with Patrick. Patrick had actually kissed him on the cheek before leaving. And it wasn’t a raunchy, “Look at us,” publicity kiss. It was a “good-bye, see you soon” kiss. It was real. And he said they’d talk alter. About their feelings? About what this was?

All the excitement made him feel even worse, and he barely got to the bathroom in time to puke his nerves out. He felt much better after, but the stink of tequila made his headache linger. He took a long shower, made himself the greasiest eggs he could, drank two huge cups of black coffee, and took ibuprofen. When he was finished, he looked at a clock. It was 10:35 in the morning. Pete had no clue when Patrick would be back. He hadn’t thought to ask.

He felt too crappy to do anything, and he didn’t want to be alone anyway, so he decided he’d stay in and sleep. He went to his room and slept for a while. When the returning pain in his head woke him up at around 1, he realized he hated being in bed without feeling Patrick next to him. He took more ibuprofen and decided to try to sleep on the couch, which he liked much better. He woke up twice more, once to eat a handful of pretzels (his stomach was growling but he couldn’t imagine eating any more actual food) and once to take Pepto Bismol. He stayed on the couch, and 8:30 found him asleep, with the lights off, when Patrick walked in.

The sudden sharpness of lights jerked Pete awake. His headache was dull now. As he sat up, he didn’t feel like vomiting. He was feeling better. And then he saw Patrick standing, arms crossed, next to the light switch.

“You look like hell. Have you eaten?” Patrick asked. Pete stared at him. Tight black jeans, beat up Chucks, a blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up. The hat. The glasses. He wished like hell that he looked that good, that Patrick wanted him like he wanted Patrick. But that wasn’t something he wanted to bring up, not just yet. And he was really good at not bringing up how much he wanted Patrick- he’d had years of practice.

So instead he said, “I ate pretzels earlier. Do I really look that bad?”

“You kinda do,” Patrick laughed, and Pete laughed, too.

“I’m gonna take another shower. Maybe that’ll wake me up.”

“Okay.”

Pete went into the bathroom and undressed. As he showered, he got a bit nervous. Patrick hadn’t mentioned the conversation he’d wanted to have earlier. Maybe as he’d gone through his day, he’d decided it was a bad idea. Which didn’t surprise Pete. The one thing that he wanted to maintain, and Patrick did, too, was the integrity and chemistry of the band. But Jesus, waking up to Patrick this morning was a vision, a dream. It was something he’d thought about for ages. He couldn’t imagine going the rest of his life without snuggling up to Patrick, now that he’d had it.

He tried to shake the billions of thoughts running through his head as he dried off and pulled on a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt. He inhaled deeply before he went back to the living room, not knowing what to expect.

On the coffee table, the bottle of tequila was replaced by a huge salad. Patrick was on the couch, watching a basketball game. Pete sat next to Patrick, feeling apprehensive. Patrick looked over at him and then turned the TV off. He motioned to the salad.

“I wanted to make dinner, but this was all I could find that was okay for you due to your… current state,” was his explanation. He smiled shyly and Pete felt his heart melt.

“Anyway, so,” he continued, shifting so that he was facing Pete. “How much do you remember from last night?”

“Bits and pieces, not much” was Pete’s response.

“Okay, well. Better start from the beginning. Listen, I’m sorry for the way I acted the other night on the tour bus. I know we joke like that, all of us do. It was just the first time you’d said anything like that to me, directly, without a group around, and I was caught off-guard. I overreacted, I know. I’m sorry.”

There was a pause, and all Pete could think to say was “It’s fine, really.”

“Good.” Patrick looked at the blank TV screen and nodded. There was a pause, and for a desperate, devastating second, Pete thought that was the end of it. But then Patrick spoke again, hesitatingly.

“And I want you to know the reason I acted like that was because I feel the same way. About you. I have for a while and I just wasn’t prepared to tell you. Or act on it. But I. Yeah. I’m not very good at this. But we have this weekend to see where things go. Or what happens. Because I’d like that. If you would.” Patrick was staring at his hands, which were tangled in his lap.

It took Pete a minute to process. Patrick was saying the words he’d wanted to hear for as long as he could remember. Last night wasn’t some drunken dream. And he was so shy, so vulnerable, saying these things, that Pete wanted to wrap his arms around Patrick and never let go. Or kiss Patrick until his lips were numb. Or just do… something.

“Patrick,” Pete whispered. “Look at me.”

Patrick obliged. There were those eyes again, bright and penetrating. Suddenly the space between them on the couch was too big for Pete to bear. He wasn’t sure why or when it started, but suddenly he was covering the gap with his chest, leaning further and further, and after what seemed like an eternity, his mouth clumsily met Patrick’s.

Pete was no stranger to kissing. He couldn’t even begin to count the amount of people he’d kissed. But this was not just kissing. As Patrick slid closer to Pete and their mouths fit together and Pete pressed his lips harder onto Patrick’s, he was very aware that this was much more than kissing. This was Patrick, this was his dream, this was it. This was Patrick’s hands in his hair and his hands on Patrick’s neck and their chests pressed together and before Pete was fully aware of what was going on, Patrick was on Pete’s lap, his legs straddling his hips. And when Patrick pulled away and looked sheepishly into Pete’s eyes, Pete knew he didn’t want to be anywhere but here.

“Should we… Do you want to stop?” Pete asked, but the way his hands roamed the expanse of Patrick’s back begged Patrick to say no.

“I don’t,” Patrick whispered. He got up and took Pete’s hand. Pete stood up and allowed himself to be led to Patrick’s room. As Patrick pushed crap off of his bed and pulled his glasses and hat off, Pete took in Patrick’s room, the crumpled paper all over the floor, the clothes strewn about everywhere. It amazed Pete that Patrick had been in this hotel room for about 24 hours and it already looked like this.

His thoughts were interrupted by Patrick’s lips on his neck. He turned to face Patrick and immediately found Patrick’s mouth on his, Patrick’s hands under his shirt and on his stomach. Pete instinctively wrapped his arms around him, pulling him as close as possible. It was so easy, the way their lips moved silently together, the way they touched each other. And when Patrick unlocked Pete’s lips with his tongue, Pete realized with a thrill that this was easy, too.

So of course it felt inevitable when Patrick pushed the two of them onto the bed, when Pete found himself laying down, between Patrick’s legs, trying with shaking hands to unbutton Patrick’s shirt.

Patrick pulled away and smiled. “Are you nervous?” he asked.

“I guess so,” Pete laughed. This was weird. He was never nervous in bed. But the thought of what could happen tonight, the image of Patrick willingly on top of him, not to mention the erection he had or the fact that he could feel the heat of Patrick’s on his own thigh, drove him crazy. He was aching, practically going out of his mind wanting Patrick. And at the same time, he felt like everything needed to happen very slowly. He had spent so long dreaming about this moment and he finally had it. It needed to be perfect. Everything needed to be just right.

Patrick took Pete’s hand, which was still on a button of his shirt, and whispered, “You don’t have to worry. It’s me. It’s just me.”

Pete couldn’t take it. He pressed his mouth hard to Patrick’s, and as the kiss deepened he unbuttoned Patrick’s shirt as quickly as he could and pushed it off his shoulders and arms. Patrick responded by yanking Pete’s t-shirt over his head. Pete stopped kissing Patrick long enough to push him onto the bed and climb on top of him. He sat back on Patrick’s legs and took him in. It was the first time that Pete could look at him the way he wanted to, with lust and love and need. He’d seen Patrick shirtless before, but never like this.

“You okay?” Patrick asked. He seemed a bit concerned.

“Yeah, no, it’s just…” Pete’s mind was going a million miles an hour. He wanted to find the perfect words to describe how he was feeling, but he couldn’t come up with the right ones. So he settled on, “You’re beautiful.”

Patrick blushed heavily. “Just kiss me, you idiot,” he mumbled. Pete couldn’t think of anything better than obliging.

After a few more minutes of feverish kissing, Pete decided to take a chance. He reached slowly for Patrick’s belt buckle. Patrick pulled away and inhaled sharply.

“What is it?” Pete asked. “If you don’t want to, we can stop.” Pete prayed that Patrick didn’t want to stop.

“No, that’s not it. It’s just… been a while since anyone… you know.”

Pete shuddered. The vulnerability he saw in Patrick was so hot. He almost couldn’t stand it. Patrick nodded and Pete began to tug hungrily at his jeans. When they were off, along with his underwear, Pete paused to look at him again. Patrick was shivering from cold and exposure, and Pete took everything in, the way Patrick’s eyes faded into his face, which faded into his neck, which faded into his torso, which faded into… _oh god._

“Pete,” Patrick practically whimpered, sitting up on his elbows. “Pete, I want you, I want this. You have no idea how much I _want_ you…”

Pete cut him off with a kiss, desperate and deep, the fabric of his pants rubbing against Patrick’s cock in a way that drove him insane. He was considering pulling away to get out of them when Patrick began to do it for him, grabbing at the waistline. Soon Pete kicked the pants off. He was on all fours above Patrick, breathing heavily. He tried to kiss Patrick, but Patrick avoided Pete’s mouth. “No,” Patrick whispered. “I want to remember this.”

Pete hesitated, then, instead of trying to kiss him, he moved his hand to Patrick’s cock. He maintained eye contact with Patrick as he wrapped his hand around it. He half-expected Patrick to pull away, but instead he bit his lip and lightly thrust his hips upward, begging Pete to continue.

And Pete, of course, obeyed. He began to move his hand up and down Patrick, slowly at first, his mind racing. He thought back to the last time he had done this. There was Mikey, years ago, and after that there had been a wild, half-drunken fling with Spencer. But it had to have been at least five years since he’d been with a guy. And even then, it didn’t feel like this. As Pete worked Patrick, there was an ache he couldn’t describe, a want for Patrick that was almost tangible, and it got worse every time Patrick moaned his name. His strokes became faster, and Patrick started thrusting into his hand. He moved hard and fast, hoping that the way he worked Patrick would somehow relieve the need he felt for him.

“Oh god, oh god, Pete…” Patrick breathed, barely able to speak.

“Is this good?” Pete asked, his voice husky. “Are you okay?”

“This, yeah… Amazing,” Patrick responded. “I’m close, I’m so close.”

“Good. Good.”

After a few more strokes, Patrick came over himself and Pete, something Pete found so incredibly attractive that he almost couldn’t take it. Patrick pushed himself up to meet Pete’s lips. The kiss was sloppy, but Pete wrapped his clean hand around the back of Patrick’s head and deepened it anyway. Patrick grabbed Pete’s erection, and it only took two or three messy strokes for Pete to come, moaning loudly onto Patrick’s mouth. Patrick collapsed onto the bed, breathing as heavily as Pete. “Oh my god,” he whispered between breaths. “That was… incredible. Oh my god.”

Pete smiled and kissed Patrick’s forehead. He found a dirty t-shirt on the floor and used it to clean them up, then he snuggled happily next to Patrick.

“I have thought about this for… years. Ages,” Patrick mumbled into Pete’s hair, wrapping his arms around him.

“Me too,” Pete replied. “I wish I had known earlier, but still, this is more than I could ask for.”

“I don’t have to do anything tomorrow. Maybe we can go look around town and… talk about things. Where we take this.”

“I like the sound of that,” Pete said, although a knot in his stomach made him wonder if Patrick didn’t want to have a relationship. His anxiety began to get the best of him and he gently pulled himself out of Patrick’s grasp.

“Where are you going?” Patrick asked, taking Pete’s hand.

“To my room. To sleep,” Pete replied. He didn’t want to sleep alone, but Patrick’s comment threw him. He was getting too attached already, and if tomorrow didn’t go as planned… He couldn’t imagine how he would feel.

“No, stay. Babe, please.”

The pleading in Patrick’s voice, and the fact that he called Pete “Babe” (he actually called Pete “babe”!), kept Pete in Patrick’s bed, in his arms. He fell back to Patrick and snaked his arm around his waist.

“You can’t imagine how I feel about you,” Patrick whispered, kissing Pete softly on the lips.

Pete wanted to say he could. He wanted to say he knew exactly how Patrick felt, and maybe more, because he was so deeply, desperately in love that he didn’t know what to do. But it was too early for that. And anyway, Patrick’s eyes were closed, and he seemed to be asleep.


	3. SUNDAY

Pete was awakened by a strange feeling on his chest. He opened his eyes and saw Patrick lying next to him, tracing random lines along his ribcage. Pete smiled. He had spent years dreaming about waking up in the same bed as Patrick, and now here he was. It was beautiful.

Patrick looked up at him and grinned. “Good morning, beautiful,” he said in his best teen heartthrob voice.

Pete laughed. “Good morning.” 

Patrick lifted himself to Pete’s lips and kissed him softly. Pete sighed. “This is a dream,” he whispered.

“I hope not, because I’d wake up very upset,” Patrick responded. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah. Yesterday was hangover central, but I feel fantastic now.”

“That’s good to hear, because we’re going to hit the city today.”

“Oh, joy,” Pete laughed, and he kissed Patrick again, partly because he was so beautiful, and partly because he was still getting used to the fact that he could kiss Patrick whenever he wanted.

Patrick pressed himself closer to Pete and grazed his hand along Pete’s length. Pete shuddered and immediately felt himself get hard. Patrick smiled in a way that Pete had never seen. It looked like a smile of satisfaction, of power.

“Do you live to torture me?” Pete breathed, giggling. He had wanted it to be a joke, but the one touch Patrick gave him already drove him crazy. He turned onto his side to face Patrick.

“I like it. I love the way I make you feel. And I feel bad. I got way too much attention last night, you barely got any.” Patrick wrapped his hand around Pete’s erection, grinning.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit early?” Pete asked, although the way Patrick’s hands felt on him made him insane.

“Maybe. But I can’t get enough of you. I’ve wanted you for so long, I want as much of you as possible.” Patrick emphasized his point by gently stroking Pete. Pete loved it. He closed his eyes and let himself experience how it felt, to be touched by Patrick, to be wanted by him.

After a few feverish minutes, Pete came into Patrick’s hand. He cleaned himself up and kissed Patrick on the nose. “You’re very good,” he said.

“That’s good to hear, because I’ve never actually done that before.”

“Never done what?”

Patrick shifted his gaze, avoiding eye contact with Pete. “I’ve never been with a guy before. Ever.”

Pete was shocked. “So last night, everything that’s happened… This is your first time experiencing that… ever?”

“Ever.” Pete could see that Patrick was blushing violently. But it didn’t embarrass Pete, it only made him want Patrick more. Pete told him as much, and Patrick grinned.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this hungry in my life. Let’s get breakfast,” Patrick announced. The boys got out of bed and dressed quickly. They entered the living room of the suite and Pete threw out the forgotten salad they hadn’t eaten the night before. Patrick rummaged through the half-empty mini fridge and cabinets of the kitchenette. 

“It looks like we have one egg and lots of small bottles of Bailey’s. Not exactly breakfast,” he said. “Wanna go out?”

“Sure, why not,” Pete answered, smiling. Patrick took his hand and led him out the door.

They found a small café to have breakfast. After they ate, they walked aimlessly around the small town they were in, poking into shops and sitting in parks. They looked at records and drank coffee, they tried on ridiculous clothes, they laughed together about the astounded looks people were giving them, two rock stars just going for a stroll. But mostly they talked to each other, said the things they’d been holding in longer than they could remember.

 

“I swoon every time you sing in falsetto,” Pete said while they were drinking espressos in a hole-in-the-wall coffee shop. Patrick just laughed.

“I’ll have to do that more often.”

 

They were in an independent bookstore when Patrick said, “You don’t know how jealous I got when you brought girls back to hotel rooms. It was even worse when you brought back boys. I would get in such awful moods, and Andy would always ask me about it, but I never said anything. I think he knows, though.”

“Are you serious? You’d always encourage me to find someone to get with,” Pete said. “I really thought you didn’t care.”

 

At the first park they went to, Patrick told him that since the first time they played it live, he’d always dedicated Sugar, We’re Going Down to Pete.

“That’s fitting,” Pete said, “because I wrote it with you in mind.”

“What a romantic,” Patrick said. “How many other songs have you written with me in mind?”

“A few.”

 

At the second, Patrick asked, “When you were talking about writing Sugar with me in mind… You felt that much for me that long ago?”

“Longer,” Pete answered. “Since, god, probably since Take This To Your Grave hit. I remember having to spend all that time with you while we were recording and at the end of it I just thought, ‘Wow, I need to record another album with him.’ And then I just knew.” 

“I felt the same way. I wish I had the courage to tell you. Everything.”

“It’s okay, we have each other now.”

“You’re right. Now you’re my boyfriend.” Patrick paused and asked “Aren’t you?”

Pete smiled widely. “If you want me to be. I could never tell you no.”

“I’m so happy to have you, babe.”

“I’m happy, too,” Pete said. And he meant it with everything he had.

 

“I wrote 7 Minutes in Heaven for you,” Pete said after a long silence while they were sitting in the third park they found. It was a hard thing to say, but as they were watching the sun set, their hands clasped together between them on the park bench, it seemed like the right time to say it.

“What?” Patrick looked at Pete, but Pete avoided his gaze. “I thought that was about your… your overdose.” 

Pete had to fight the urge to smile. Patrick had always hated bringing up Pete’s suicide attempt, and anytime he had to he called it Pete’s “overdose”. Maybe that was just another sign of how much Patrick cared about him, a sign that Pete never picked up on.

“It was, for the most part. I mean, most of that whole album was. But 7 Minutes in Heaven… That was about you, too. It was about how grateful I was that you were there for me, how much I wanted you to care for me. It was… It was a love letter, in a way.”

“A love letter? Pete, what are you saying?” Patrick was staring at him, but Pete wouldn’t make eye contact. It had taken everything he had to get those words out. He couldn’t handle any type of rejection.

“Pete.” Patrick’s voice was firm. “Look at me. Please.”

Pete did. Patrick’s eyes were glistening. He looked like he was about to cry. “Are you saying you… love me?” Patrick asked, his voice breaking slightly.

“Yes,” Pete whispered. He knew he had to say it. He couldn’t be with Patrick without saying it. “Trick, you don’t know how much I love you.”

Patrick stared at him for a while. Pete could almost feel a repeat of the tour bus coming. But then, in the middle of a random park, while the first stars were coming out for the night, Patrick fell onto Pete and kissed him like he’d never been kissed before. Suddenly, as Patrick kissed Pete deeply, passionately, his hands holding onto Pete’s neck, everything stopped feeling like a dream. Suddenly, it was very very real. He had Patrick. He had said the words that had been burdening his chest for years. And far from rejecting him or running away, Patrick was kissing him with all that he had.

After what seemed like an eternity, Patrick pulled away. “Pete, I love you so much.” In the dark, Pete couldn’t really see, but the cracks in Patrick’s voice made him think that Patrick was crying.

“That is so good to hear,” Pete whispered, pressing his forehead to Patrick’s.

Patrick kissed Pete on the nose and whispered, “Let’s go back to the hotel.”

They walked back together, hand-in-hand, not caring who saw or what the press would say. They were too happy to have each other. Pete’s step was much lighter. He felt like every burden he’d dealt with for years was gone. He knew Patrick made things better, he’d relied on it for years. But now he knew that just being with Patrick made the whole world a shade brighter.

When they entered the room, Andy and Joe were sitting on the couch. Pete’s heart sank. He had forgotten that Andy and Joe were due back tonight. He’d expected a repeat of last night, and now he wasn’t sure if Patrick would be up for it. But Patrick didn’t drop Pete’s hand, and Andy nodded knowingly.

“Hey guys, we were starting to get worried,” Andy said. “Anyway, we’re going to go get something to eat, so we’ll just be out of your hair. Come on, Joe.”

“Wait, we’re going out? Why aren’t Patrick and Pete coming?” Joe asked, confused.

“I’m sure they’ve already eaten. Let’s go.”

“They didn’t even ask us how our weekends were.”

“JOE. They will ask us tomorrow. But we should go now.”

Joe looked at Andy, puzzled. Then he looked at Patrick and Pete. His eyes fell on their intertwined fingers. His eyes lit up. “OH,” he said, rather loudly. “Okay, we’ll go eat. And maybe have drinks or something later. Have fun guys! Talk to you tomorrow.”

Andy rolled his eyes and walked to the door. Joe quickly followed, winking at Pete and Patrick. When he left, the two boys cracked up.

“Gotta love him, but Joe can be a bit slow sometimes,” Patrick said.

“He means well,” Pete responded. “So, we have the hotel room free for a few more hours.”

“So we do,” Patrick said, leaning into Pete and kissing him gently. 

Pete pulled Patrick close and deepened the kiss. He thrusted his hips lightly into Patrick’s, begging hi, for more. Patrick pushed his tongue through Pete’s lips and began to push him through the living room to Pete’s room. Pete pulled away long enough to sit down on the edge of his bed. Patrick looked around. “This place is spotless,” he said.

“I don’t like to feel too comfortable in hotels. You have to leave them eventually,” Pete explained. 

“That’s a good philosophy, I guess,” Patrick said. “Makes it easier to pack, I bet.”

Pete laughed. “I guess it does. Now come here.” He pulled Patrick on top of him by his belt loops. They kissed desperately, their hands exploring each other’s bodies as much as possible. Pete pulled Patrick’s shirt off and began to kiss him everywhere- his neck, his chest, his cheeks. Patrick held the back of Pete’s head and whispered over and over, “I love you, Pete, I love you, I love you…” Pete only mumbled responses against Patrick’s skin, hoping that the way his lips grazed Patrick’s body was proof enough of his love.

Pete kissed Patrick’s lips again. He pushed Patrick onto the bed and climbed on top of him. Patrick smiled and pulled Pete’s shirt off. They looked at each other for a while before Pete asked, barely audible, “What exactly do you want to happen tonight?”

“I want everything,” Patrick answered simply.

“Meaning…?”

“Pete, I want you to fuck me.” Patrick said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and maybe it was, but it still immediately gave Pete chills. 

“Yes. Okay, absolutely, yes,” Pete whispered, kissing Patrick quickly. Then they were tugging their jeans off and Pete was rummaging in his drawers for lube and condoms and suddenly, there they were, Pete on top of Patrick, both of them breathing heavily. This was it. This was a moment that was a decade in the making. Pete slicked up his fingers and slowly spread Patrick’s legs.

“Are you okay?” Pete asked. Patrick nodded, smiling. “No one’s ever done this with you before, right? So just so you know, it could hurt and I want you to tell me if you’re not comfortable…”

“Babe,” Patrick interrupted. “I appreciate it, but the talking is kind of killing the mood. Just go ahead, okay?”

Pete nodded. He took in a deep breath and slid a finger into Patrick.

Patrick’s breathing hitched almost immediately. He shut his eyes and bit his lip. The sight of it almost sent Pete over the edge. “How are you?” he asked.

“I’m okay,” Patrick breathed. “It’s good. Great.”

Pete hesitantly added a second finger. Patrick yelped, then bit his lip again. The noises Patrick was making made Pete hungry for Patrick. He’d do anything to get another reaction like that. He pushed his fingers deeper, and as Patrick moaned Pete had to hold onto his own erection in an attempt to relieve the ache he felt. “Is it okay?” Pete asked.

“Yes, Pete, oh god-“ he cut himself off with a moan as Pete roughly pushed a third finger in. 

Pete couldn’t get enough. Patrick felt warm and amazing, and the fact that this was Patrick’s first was icing on the cake. “I love you so much, Trick,” Pete whispered, his voice husky.

“I love you too,” Patrick said between heavy breaths. “Pete, I can’t… I can’t wait anymore. Please.”

Pete pulled his fingers out and reached for a condom. As he took one out of the box, he noticed that his hands were shaking again. He knew he was nervous- he wanted to give Patrick everything he wanted. He didn’t want to come up short.

As he began to tear away the wrapper, Patrick grabbed his wrist. “I want you to know that I want this,” he said. “Don’t hesitate, don’t worry. I know it might hurt, but I want you. All of you, everything.” 

Pete was going to faint if he didn’t handle how much he wanted Patrick. Everything he was saying was so beautiful and so sexy, Pete was going to explode. He quickly put the condom on and used extra lube, and then he lined himself up with Patrick. He stopped for a beautiful second to take everything in. He was about to make love to Patrick, be the first person inside him. This was the unattainable dream that he finally, finally had. “This is gonna be so good for you, Trick, I promise,” Pete whispered.

“I know,” Patrick breathed.

Pete kissed Patrick’s stomach, then, taking a hold of Patrick’s waist, pushed into him. 

It was the best thing Pete had ever felt. Patrick was tight and perfect and the way he groaned Pete’s name was music to his ears. “You okay?” Pete asked.

“Perfect. I feel… full, I think. But keep going, it’ll get better.”

Pete nodded. He started gently, but Patrick took hold of Pete’s wrists and moaned, “More.” Pete began to thrust harder into Patrick, ramming his hips into him, and the small noises Patrick made seemed to beg him to continue. He buried himself as deep into Patrick as he could, then almost pulled out just to shove himself roughly into him again. Patrick breathed heavily, whimpering slightly every now and then. Pete let go of Patrick’s waist to pull Patrick’s hands above his head. He laced their fingers together and pressed Patrick’s hands on the bed. As he practically rammed himself into Patrick, he whispered, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” over and over, in time with the thrusting of his hips. 

Between the slight shaking of the bed, Pete’s continuous “I love you”s, and Patrick’s whimpering responses, Pete couldn’t help thinking that this was the most beautiful song they’d ever made together, one that had been on the tips of their tongues for years, one that had been in the making for ages. Pete took in Patrick’s flushed face, his pale skin, the way his hips began to move in time with Pete’s, allowing him to go even deeper. He knew he’d never be with anyone again, not like this. He pushed until he was sore, until he was sure that his pelvic bone had bruised the back of Patrick’s thighs, and kept going until Patrick moaned, “Pete, I… I’m going to-“

He didn’t finish his sentence. He came all over himself, and it was so perfect, the fact that he came because Pete was buried inside him, that fact that he came WHILE Pete was inside him, that Pete was a goner. He pushed himself into Patrick once or twice more before he came. He pulled out and collapsed on top of Patrick. Patrick laced his fingers through Pete’s hair and kissed his shoulder. “Thank you, babe,” he whispered. “It was better than I could’ve imagined.”

“It was better than I could’ve imagined, too,” Pete replied. “You’re beautiful. So beautiful. And I’m so in love with you.”

“I’m in love with you, too. Always,” Patrick said. Then he laughed. “You know, this is the best weekend I think I’ve ever had.”

“Me too, Trick. Me too.”


End file.
